PS 



F&=^,:'^ 



MOE. 



<'!5|>^'%'^^^<s^ pi I 



ILIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

f|lm|ry.^ lopgngltt |o 



(e//.n 



t:. 



I UNITED STATES OP AMERICA, f 



THE OLD FOUNTAIN INN. 



THE OLD FOUNTAIN INN, 



n 



AND 



OTHER POEMS. 



BY x--^ 

ADELAIDE T. MOE, 



,1 h 1875 

PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 
1875. 



M4- 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 

ADELAIDE T. M O E, 
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 




Oh ! will he not forbear— forsooth ! 

Or turn his eyes away f 
He brandishes unwelcome truths 

And fills me with dismay, 
Fve tried some simple rhymes of late, 

And full-armed there he stands / 
/ think — I feel— I know I hate 

To trust me in his hands I 
I pout my lip, — I stamp my foot ^ — 

I frown, — I look askance; 
He tears up by the very root 

The weed I na^ne romance. 
My poetry — he dubs it prose ; 

He cares not for my frown, 
I wish some don would him depose, 

Or beat the windmill down I 



I* 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

The Old Fountain Inn 9 

To AN English Sparrow . . . . . . 24 

A Mother's Soliloquy on Decoration Day . . 26 

Plea for the Poetess . .. .. . . . 30 

Eldridge Lake 34 

Sonnet. William Cullen Bryant .... 38 

Katydid Admonished 40 

Days at Emrod Point 43 

The Hounds upon the Hill 48 

Mamie Clancy 53 

De Profundis . 56 

Keys of Song . 58 

How TO make Bread . . . . . . .61 

Song 64 

7 



8 Contents, 

PAGE 

Father 65 

Mother 70 

The Deserted Prison-Ground 74 

New Year 78 

Lines on the Death of L. R 81 

. Our Home by the River . . . . . . 84 

Aurora. (Cayuga Lake) 89 

Lines 93 

To A Nameless Bird 94 

Heart-Breathings 96 

Sonnet to J. J. H. 99 

Sonnet. The Forbidden Flower .... loi 

** Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me" 103 

Hearts that Bleed ....... 105 

We Love the Hoary Locks of Age . , . .108 

"Oh, Turn those Darksome Eyes Away" . . iii 
Winter's First Storm . . - . . . .112 

Little Kate's Last Dream 115 

A Mystery 120 



THE OLD FOUNTAIN INN. 

\T 7HERE away to the south stretch the 

misty blue hills, 
Where lullaby music flows down in the rills, 

Where Heaven's arch rings with bewildering 

trills. 
And Nature's rich bounty the heart overfills, 

Stands the old Fountain Inn with mountains 

o'erhung, 
On the bank of the beautiful river Chemung. 



lo The Old Fountain Inn, 

There winds the soft sheen of the river's blue 
hne, 

There woodbine and roses in loveliness twine; 



And the snow of the dogwood, the gold of the 

rod, 
And the plumes of the elms in the gentle winds 

nod. 



Come ! — bright-groomed and restless waits Fancy, 

our steed; 
Impatient of trappings that trammel her speed. 





The Old Fountain Inn. 1 1 


Well 


mount and away 
reins ! 


! on her neck shake the 


Ah! 1 


the current of life starts aleap in our veins, 


And 


youth with the glamour it only can know 


Shall 


rule in its power 


, and backward we go 


Through the vista of 


years to the welcoming 




hearth, 




So sought in lang syne 


for its comfort and mirth. 


Hark 


! how the slow 
horn 


call of the mellow post- 


Wakes the mountains 


to echo this sunflooded 




morn. 





12 The Old Fountain Inn, 


How the wayfarers gladden the Inn to descry; — 


On the cheer of mine host they are safe to rely ; 


The warm friendly 


greeting — the hearty hand- 


shake 




Is accorded, and all of refreshment partake. 


Then the coach (four-in-hand) starts anew on 


its trip, 




Whirling off down 


the valley to the crack of 


the whip. 




Here Flatfoot, the 


half-breed, her corner will 


claim, 







The Old Fountain Injt, 


13 


The 


fumes of her pipe floating up with 
flame; 


the 


With 


her feet in the ashes, her eye rolling 


hate. 


With 


a frown on her brow, her black hair 
ing straight, 


fall- 


With 


form swaying sideway, half drunken, 
scorning. 


half 


While none dare to tease or to leave, give 


her 




warning, 




Like the voice of the pine when by hoarse 


win- 




ter shaken, 






2* 





14 The Old Fountain Inn, 

Like death-wail or dirge, her strange voice does 
awaken, 

And the woes of her tribe she recounts o'er and 

o'er, 
While silent, aloof, stands her chief by the door. 

At length they move onward, — each form loaded 

down 
With baskets to sell, — trudging off to the town. 

As they pass the lone farm-house the watch- 
dog bounds out, 
And children hide silent, for, '* Flatfoot's about;" 



The Old Fotmtam Inn, 15 

And was it not reckoned in yesterday's score 
That the old crone should carry them off, if 
no more? 

And anon, — in the fragrance of summer's soft 

wind, 
When the sun, low declining, leaves shadows 

behind. 

Comes laughing along a gay, galloping train. 
With the flutter of scarf and the tossing of mane. 

Were ever a pageant more spirited seen? 
All is beauty and life ; all so happy I ween. 



i6 The Old Fountain In?z, 

The toiler afield catcheth food for his thought : 
Just the blue of an eye with diversion is 
fraught; 

A fair, beaming face, or the grace of a form. 
He museth upon, and his heart groweth warm. 

He gazes long after they pass out of sight. 
And he dreams, and he dreams of that train all 
the night. 

Firm-seated and daring, a maiden in glee, 
(Knowing well that her challenge accepted will 
be,) 



The Old Fountain Inn, 17 

Darts out from the ranks, ignoring disaster, 
For one who is bolder rides firmer and faster, — 

The ring of the iron-rimmed hoof on the ground. 
The shout and the laugh from the hillsides re- 
bound. 

Affrighted, the mother-bird shrinks to her 

nest, 
Still as death, though her heart flutters wild in 

her breast; 

But the fun-loving squirrel, joining quick in the 
race. 



1 8 The Old Fountain Inn, 

(On the ragged rail fence) tries in vain to keep 
pace. 

They safely dismount where the Inn-fountain 

gushes ; 
He whispers of love ! by the bloom of her 

blushes ; 

He offers a kiss, and she does not reject it, 
Though mountain and fountain and birds shall 
detect it. 

Oh ! — many a heart sought its chosen to win 
On the road that leads down to the old Foun- 
tain Inn. 





The Old Fountain Inn. 19 


As the shadows of night are descending apace, 


The huntsman, aweary, comes in from the chase. 


He's 


sure of indulgence ; the game soon is 




dressed, 


And 


betimes to the bounteous board he is 




pressed ; 


And 


around goes the joke, for a friend or two 




more 


Are down from the town ; (nightly custom of yore.) 


Now 


they bid the bold hunter relate his ad- 




ventures, 



20 


The Old Fou7itain Inn, 






While all shall discuss the good cheer of 


the 




trenchers. 






For 


his pains he could reckon both 
pleasure, 


profit 


and 


The 


sport had been fine ; he'd had lu 


ck without 




measure. 






He 


had started a deer while the morning 


was 




gray: 






It stood all amaze and then bounded 


away. 




Yet 


his rifle, unerring, had brought 
game; 


down 


the 



The Old Fountain Inn, 2 1 

Not his was the arm such fine creatures to 
maim, 

Nor would he the haunts of the partridge be- 
tray, 
Yet he promised himself to go often that way. 

Hard by we are waiting, old Inn of the Foun- 
tain, 

Canst find thee a voice in the winds of the 
mountain ? 

Canst tell how the latch-string was ever hung 
out 



22 


The Old Fountain Inn. 


To 


the pride of the valley for romp or for 




rout ? 


Of 


dancers afloat to the fiddle and bow? 


Of 


beaux and of belles all in radiant row? 


Of 


joy's dimpled cheek, of eyes flashing light, 


Of 


song's swelling chorus the meed of delight ? 


On the banks of the stream — through the leafy- 




aisles start, 


Vague echoes of voices that sadden the heart ; 


And hands that are folded where looks not the 




sun 



The Old Fountain Inn, 23 

From out the dim shadows seem beckoning 



on. 



We would go— though we stay; — unsubmissive 

to pain; 
While in sorrow's deep tide fall our tears like 

the rain. 



TO AN ENGLISH SPARROW. 

'T^HOU charming little songster, 
That givest to winter, gray, 
So much of summer's brightness, 
We wonder if 'tis May, — 

We give thee warmest welcome 

On this far alien shore, 
Tho' thou shalt sing of England 

For ever, ever more. 



To ail English Sparrow, 25 

This morn thou greet'st us gayly; 

Where did'st thou shelter find? 
Where didst thou fold thy tiny wings 

From last night's bitter wind? 

We watch thee on yon casement, 

Thy mate so near beside, 
We would such sweet contentment 

Might with us all abide. 

We bless our God who gave thee 

Thy bonnie, cheerful voice, 
To tell us in the winter 

How summer days rejoice. 
3* 



A MOTHER^S SOLILOQUY ON 
DECORATION DAY. 

/^^N honored graves your garlands lay; 

Our country is at peace/' you say, 
"And this is Decoration Day." 

We strew the flowers, bending low. 
Yet, oh ! this heart knows still its woe ; 
Once more the ashes are aglow. 



A Mother's Soliloquy on Decoration Day, 27 

The boy, with full, exultant heart, 

Went to his death ; scarce felt the smart ; 

But in this breast is fixed a dart. 

Ah, me! ah, me! I see again 
The lurid flames! the flying train! 
The Death! that stalks the gory plain. 

Stern War, relentless, raised the sign, 
His iron heel crushed out the wine, 
And left the bruised and bleeding vine. 

I will not think *twas God who gave 
The fearful might to that wild wave 
That swept the dear lad to his grave. 



28 A Mother's Soliloquy on Decoration Day, 

Pile high the flowers ! What then ? what then ? 
It will not bring him back again ; 
And I am three-score years and ten. 

The winds soon waft their fragrance by; 
The green leaves shrink and fade and die; 
The grave still lies beneath mine eye, 

*Tis true that many won renown, 

Yet hearts and homes are trampled down ! 

Too great the cost ; — too dear the crown ! 

I know 'tis well ; secure from fears, 
My country, free, her flag uprears, 
Yet I but drown me in my tears. 



A Mother's Soliloquy on Decoration Day. 29 

Can age grow strong? Can love grow cold? — 
A mother's love of wealth untold ? 
My boy was fair and young and bold. 

Tm old and lone, forgive, restrain, 
Oh, God! the heart in burning pain. 
That must, must wish him back again ! 



PLEA FOR THE POETESS. 

OHE sat with memory, apart, 

And looked along the changeful past; 
The while of twilight in her heart, 
Disclosing more than noontide vast. 

The flower constrained by freshening dew 
Yields up new sweetness to the morn, — 

From hope, and love, and beauty true 
Is truest inspiration born. 



Plea for the Poetess. 3 1 

Though Pan is dead, there's music still 
In wooded aisle and mountain stream; 

Though fairies dance no more at will, 
There's witchery in moonlight's beam. 

And when the hills took sunset's glow. 
When looked from far the starry host, 

When voiceful winds were whispering low. 
Or echoes bowled the lonely coast. 

She seemed to catch vague tones, divine; 

Arousing passion's subtile power; 
And thought on thought in quickening line 

Grew strong for utterance each hour. 



32 Plea for the Poetess, 

Till, — as a rapt inspired soul, 

Drawn on by some familiar strain, 

Is moved to sing, beyond control, — 
She blissful joins the rich refrain. 

So — freed at last — in fairer clime, 

With earnest voice her song she trills; 

Where music flows in pleasant rhyme, 
Like laughter rippling down the rills. 

And something whispers, "Turn not back!- 
Be brave! — yield not to paltry fear. 

Wouldst thou a poet's raptures lack 
For vainest mockings of a tear? 



Plea for the Poetess, 33 

** To use the measure given thee — dare ! 

Lift up thy voice and hail the dawn, — 
Thy brow that never bays may wear 

Serenest light still shines upon. 

'' Let sympathy's full chords resound ; 

Content, though all unknown to fame, 
Find in the love of hearts around. 

The richer guerdon of a name/' 



ELDRIDGE LAKE. 

"XT 7E miss thee, fairy dream, 

We miss thee, silver lake; 
We miss thy cheering beam, 
The glow thy waters take. 

Stern winter holds thee bound 
In firm, congealing might. 

As, in his chilling round, 

He fi-oze thee fi-om our sight. 



Eldridge Lake. 35 

And naught can move his icy heart 

Till spring, with elfin train, 
With living warmth its fountains start 

And gives us thee again. 

Meanwhile, we sing thy praise; 

Meanwhile, we tell thy worth; 
Meanwhile, in roundelays 

We chant thy summer mirth. 

We tell of weary brain 

That found relief from toil, 
Where, winsome, thou dost reign, 

Far from the city's moil. 



36 Eldridge Lake, 

We tell of wandering feet, 

That pause in downward tread, 

To own thy influence sweet, 
And sigh for honor fled. 

We know God does uplift 

Our hearts by beauty's might; 

Not idle on we drift, 

But pause in pure delight. 

So, when we seek thy rest 
From care and toil and duty, 

We feel that we are blest 
With benison of beauty. 



Eldridge Lake, 37 

Oh, every heart joy-borne — 

Oh, every eye God-fed — 
Will welcome thy return. 

Loosed from thy ice-bound bed. 



WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 

TN beautiful repose, clear, calm, and bright. 
Shines out the morning star, — a signal grand : 

Set in the heavens by the Creator's hand 
To herald victory o'er dismal night. 
And so, to bless our sphere, he gives birthright 

To genius: bestowing which, he makes demand. 

Behold, all humbly worn at his command 
Upon yon brow, the signet of his light. ' 
That ever-reaching, restless mind doth send 

Its searching forces through creation wide. 



William Ctdleri Bryant, . 39 

And precious gleanings to mankind shall lend, 

Till Mother Earth its tenement shall hide. 
His form may vanish, yet, his lighted page 
Shall bide in grateful trust from age to age. 



KATYDID ADMONISHED. 

IV^ATYDID, though you think youVe de- 
ceiving us so, 

We've caught you at last, and your secret we 
know; 

We find it is only your wings you are trying ; 

And now (if you'll listen) you'll hear us replying. 

You're a poet, — though, only one in your own 

mind; 
You vociferate loudly, and throw on the wind, 



Katydid Admonished, 41 

With much of pretension, and little of study, 
Rhymes, which are, in truth, most shockingly 
muddy. 

You think your songs mystical ; truly, they're 

blind : 
So twisted, distorted, that poor, plain mankind 
Find it hard to make out what you mean by 

the batch ; 
As the shade of a ghost in the gloaming to 

catch. 

Though much we allow to a maid in her teens. 
And much that is vain to statesmen and queens. 



42 Katydid Admonished, 

Tis for you to be truthful and quiet and plain, 
If indulgence for your little songs you would 
gain. 

But, Katy, we fear you're a pure contradiction ; 
Your wings will not serve you : they will not 

bear friction ; 
So leave off your trying, and cease your vain 

crying; 
Though you're strong on your legs, it's no use 

to try flying. 



DAYS AT EMROD POINT. 

INSCRIBED TO MRS. E. A. B. 

T3 RIGHT pictures fill mine eyes to-night; 

I dream of one fair lake, 
Where waves in crests of foaming white 
With gentle music break. 

Upon the water glows the morn, 

With beauty ever new; 
And lightly from the west is borne 

A breath that laps the dew. 



44 Days at Emrod Point. 

And dancing o'er the waves we go 

Upon an eager quest, 
Around the rocky point, to show 

Where clings the eagle's nest. 

Or seeking out some quiet cove, 
We moor our little bark; 

Secure from all save eyes we love, 
No flight of time we mark. 

We search the pebbly curves along 
For fossil forms and shells; 

While soft as gentlest even-song 
Comes chime of distant bells. 



Days at E^nrod Point. 45 

Beneath a canopy of green 

Our light repast is spread; 
Oh, ne'er to kingly feasts, I ween, 

Such happy souls were led. 

At last comes night; the golden light 
Fades from the hemlock's crown; 

The white gulls homeward wing their flight, 
And darkness settles down. 

We turn us where — on artful cruise — 

A boat moves out from shore ; 
The gleaming torch each form imbues 

As soft they ply the oar. 

5 



46 Days at Emrod Point, 

The circle of its magic light 

Unfolds a gorgeous scene ; 
Illumes the rocky wall : makes bright 

The cedar's dusky green. 

A bird calls from a bough overhead, 
Beguiled to dreams of day; 

And from a far-off marshy bed 
We catch a roundelay. 

The beach is strewn with whitened drift, 
Worn smooth by wave's caress; 

And fresh-broke boughs the forceful lift 
Of yester's storm confess. 



Days at Emrod Point. 47 

In shining mail the finny prey- 
Moves dreamily below, 

Unconscious that 'tis death to stay 
Beneath that ruddy glow. 

The spear — poised by a careful arm — 

Darts deep into the wave ; 
The stroke is cruel, — yet from harm 

Whom innocence can save? — 

Oh, those bright days ! they mock to song ; 

Though life has deeper drawn 
Upon our hearts, we would prolong 

The sweetness of its dawn. 



THE HOUNDS UPON THE HILL. 

OHALL any say thou art not beautiful, 

Thou hoary mountain guardian of our youth, 
As now the breeze uplifts the frosty mist. 
And sunlight streams along below the pines, 
And flashes, sparkling, from the icy rocks ? 
Against thy breast, close hid by faded leaves, 
The trailing, sweet arbutus breathes of spring; 
And lichens spread their tints of gold and gray; 
And delicate, past all our art to paint. 
The tiny mosses cling in winsome way. 



The Hounds upon the HilL 49 

Though, of thy grand, primeval woods despoiled, 
And though, old Mount, thou boast nor height 

nor depth. 
Nor cloud-capped peak, nor aught of alpine 

scene. 
Thou hast a charm, a beauty, all thine own. 
To us thy shadow speaks with meaning deep; 
For, here we first saw light ; and here we 

hope. 
When time for us is past, to rest in peace. 
Hist! hearken! 

Through the still, bright morning air 
We hear resounding from the belt of woods 

5^ 



50 The Hounds upon the HilL 

That skirts thy northern front, the fox-hound's 

cry,— 
That charming symphony, so wildly sweet, 
Now loud, now faint, now pouring liquidly 
Its bell-like tones along the billowy breeze, — 
It claims our ear, and yet our pity moves ; 
For, fraught with mortal fear, some frightened 

thing 
Is leaping, flying, straining every nerve 
To gain a snug retreat; a hidden lair; 
Where waits with listening ear the startled mate, 
The partner of his care: 

Oh, huntsman, stay! 



The Hounds upon the Hill. 51 

Where find you joy? Forego your cruel sport. 
Hie! hie thee home, poor thing! thy Hfe to 

save ! 
Bound ! double on thy course ! outwit ! outwit ! 
Thy natural foe, and him who takes not shame 
Unto himself for hunting such as thou ; 
Yet,— 

Haply thou didst earn, well earn, his hate ; 
When erst at night soft sleep did him beguile, 
Fox-like, thou stolest within the quiet roost 
And robbed him of his cherished chanticleer; 
Whose welcome *' Hail, all hail," foretold the 
dawn; 



52 The Hounds upon the HilL 

Or bidding '* Sleep, sleep on," gave deeper rest. 
Yet on ! — away ! — we would not have thee die ! 
Thy sin were light compared with that each day 
Marks down for us. 

There ! — thou art safe at last, 
Within the rocky recess of thy den. 
Though panting, breathless, thou art safe at last. 
They go, — the baffled hunters and their hounds, — 
Foot-sore and weary, on their homeward way. 
The echo of those voices sweet I hear, I hear it 

still,— 
The music of the hunter's hounds upon the 

rugged hill. 



MAMIE CLANCY. 

'" IV /TAMMA, are my eyes like yours? 
Mamma, do you love me ? 
Mamma, what's your baby's name?* 
* Darling, yes, I love thee. 

"*Yes, dear one, with eyes like mine 
You cheer life's weary battle; 

And I forget my toil and care 
While listening to your prattle. 



54 Mamie Clancy, 

*^ * Your name is Mary, baby dear. 
Just like the Virgin Mother's ; 

Forever may she guide you, child, 
And shield from harm your brothers/ 

" But three days past such was our life ; 

How could we fear the morrow? 
Yet now our darling Mamie's dead, 

And we are bowed with sorrow. 

" Too heavy fell the shock for form 
So fair, so dainty-moulded; 

With sunny curls around her face 
To earth again she's folded. 



Mamie Clancy, 55 

"'Mamma/ she said, Tm going home/ 

My life with her she's taking. 
Oh ! Mamie now is crowned with God, 

But my poor heart is breaking/' 



DE PROFUNDIS. 

13 ACK, — o'er the darkened sea of life 

Looks one with sorrowing, tearful eye ; 
His bark had met unequal strife, 

While wild wrack swept the leaden sky. 

He cries, " Blest Saviour ! Holy God ! 

Thou only knew'st its struggling beat; — 
Careened by care and tossed by sin, 

Whose surging waves destroy, defeat. 



De Profundis, 57 

*' Yet, Thou didst say, ' Subdue thy cares ; 
Let faith her full submission pay. 
Tho' storms arise and sorrow wears, 

ril hear thy prayers for rescue; — Pray!"' 



KEYS OF SONG. 

'nr^HE whip-poor-will's lone voice at night, 

The katydid's misguided tongue; 
The opening bud, the sudden blight, 

The blood from leaves in Autumn wrung; 
The love-light in the maiden's eye. 

The soft bloom of the mantling cheek, 
Where Nature's perfect work shall vie 

With shades which intellect bespeak ; 
The dainty, pouting lips that press 
Against each other, consciousless; 



Keys of Song, 59 

The manly arm outstretched to save, 
To feed the hungry, foil the knave ; 
The tears on sorrow's pallid cheek, 

God's image, worn with toil and pain ; 
The beetling crag, the snow-clad peak, 

The gentle falling of the rain ; 
The winds that roar and howl and moan, 
The rivulet's sweet, murmuring tone; 
The zephyr's soft, caressing spell. 
The shadows lying in the dell ; 
The far hills veiled in deepest blue. 
The flowers sparkling in the dew; 
The stars that shine in darkest night, 
The moon that glints the snowy height; 



6o Keys of Song. 

The cock, whose changeful tones disclose 

The hours allotted to repose; 

The innocence that went astray 

For want of some kind arm to stay ; 

The beast borne down by cruel load, 

The blind man seeking out the road ; 

The graceful eloquence that sways 

All hearts, as wind the billowy maize ; 

The lightning's flash, the glow-worm's light. 

The bright-eyed, tangle-headed wight: 

These, with fancy's picturings, 

Are keys to which the poet sings. • 



The Fa7'fner^s Club of E , after making themselves 

me7'ry over a letter inquiring ^^ How to make bread?''"' 
resolved to ask their friends to send rules. 



HOW TO MAKE BREAD. 

T OLLY farmer, the question is, '' How to make 
^ bread?" 

And you think it a h'ght and a dry one. 
A slice, we will own, it is easy to spread, 

6^ 



62 How to make Bread, 

Yet the loaf to prepare, should you try in its 

stead, 
Then to eat it; though much it had bothered 

your head, 
A face you'd make, surely, a wry one. 

How to fashion life's staff is a question of 
weight. 
And one that is hard of solution. 
Though a woman may care not for questions 

of state, 
The state matrimonial she will berate 
If her care in the kitchen shall come all too late. 
And the heavy loaf lead to confusion. 



How to make Bread, 63 

Supply, by your care, from the crush of the 
mill. 
The brand which is purest and sweetest; 

With water that flows from the spring on the 

hill. 
And hops from the yard that the trailing vines 

fill. 
And a few Early Roses to be mashed with a 

will, 
Leave the rest to your wife, the discreetest 



SONG. 

/^~^F Love, of Love, we sing of Love! 
His jeweled chain that binds us; 
He makes of us whatever he will. 
And takes us as he finds us. 

We may be fair, we may be brown, 
Have eyes of blue or yellow, 

Or face too prone to wear a frown. 
He finds us still a fellow. 



FATHER. 

T T E sat upon the porch in evening hour. 

Beloved wife, dear friends, and children dear 
Were grouped around the patriarchal chair. 
He rested from his labors, full of years. 
One sigh he breathed, and so his spirit fled; 
In peace he passed to his eternal rest. 
And yet, with piteous cries they sought for aid : 
** Great God, in mercy, stay our stricken hearts ; 
But now he sat with us upon the porch, 
But now his beaming smile enlivened all ! 



66 Father, 

Bear, O blessed Saviour ! bear his soul 
To realms on high !" 

Away ! away ! speeds death's grim messenger ; 
With bated breath, with face grown cold and pale. 
The daughter hears and marks the unusual 

sound; 
And half divining the dread tale, she cries, 
In accents pitiful, ''Oh! tell me not! 
Not now ! oh no ! I cannot bear it now !'* 
Poor trembling child, thy God makes bare his 

arm; 
The blow must fall, — yet, thou wouldst strength 

bespeak,— 



Father, 6"/ 

Wouldst tell thy heart, to know if it will 
break. 

The household moves apace; all things are soon 

In readiness. They go — a stricken band ; 

They go to see their gray-haired sire en- 
tombed. 

How deep that night did memory press her 
lines ! 

Through all the long, long hours, sad shone 
the moon. 

Were ever other moonlight night like this ? 

In early dawn they reach the home bereaved ; 

With purpling fruits the vines are bending low. 



68 Father. 

The trees are heavy with their blooming store ; 
The old arm-chair still stands outside the door. 
Yet changed, how changed does all appear ! 
Within, the form so loved, the fostering hand. 
Lies cold, — congealed in icy tenement ; 
For else September's fearful, burning heat 
Would spare not e'en the clay for one last look. 

Silent, they wait, beneath God's heavy hand, 
Until upon the burdened air is heard, 
*' I am the resurrection and the life, 
He that in Me believeth shall not die." 
Oh ! Love transcendent ! Majesty Divine ! 
'Tis only thine the broken heart to heal; 



Father. 69 

Thine, only thine, to comfort and to bless. 
A requiem sounds slow upon the air; 
The cortege moves with measured tread; 
They reach the burial-ground, God's acre. 

Brethren of the mystic tie pass slow 
Around the narrow house, and from each hand 
Is thrown a sprig of green : to symbolize 
Undying love and immortality. 

Again that voice : 
'' Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." 
They turn, their homes to seek, — ^but murmur not ; 
Three-score years and near another score his span : 
They thank their God, though they are fatherless. 

7 



MOTHER. 

/^^H, mother dear, I kiss thee o'er and o'er, 
And lay my head beside thine own and 
weep ; 
For well, too well, I know that thou art drawn 
Apace, apace, toward thy last, long home. 
Can nothing stay that dark, uplifted arm ? 
Or break this spell, this overhanging dread? 
Hath earth no power to quicken this poor hand 
Lying lifeless at thy side? Shall it no more 



Mother. 7 1 

Perform its careful offices of love, 

Or press my hand, or smooth my troubled brow ? 

Her thoughts run backward to the scenes of 

youth.. 
To one who has been dead for years she says, 
^' Mary, my dear, come sing to me to-night,'* 
And when we sing, that she may be content. 
Again she says, " Why, thou dost disappoint ; 
So changed thy voice it scarcely seems like 

thine ; 
Yet once we thought it sweeter than a bird's.'* 
Again she bids us to remove the lamp, 
When all of day's bright glory floods the room ; 



72 Mother, 

Or looking up, she says, " Tis growing cold, 
Oh, how the snow is falling on my face !" 
And often standing on her bed she sees 
Our baby boy, and bids me have a care, 
Or he will fall ; yet long ago he died. 

Oh, mother ! though a cloud is on thy brain, 
Thy gentle heart keeps still its faithful trust ; 
Thy sweetest voice is lifted still in praise. 
Though long has been thine earthly pilgrimage. 
In this, the childhood of thine age, how sweet. 
How altogether lovely yet thou art! 
And when we think that thou must surely go, 
How sink and pale all our ambitious dreams. 



Mother, 73 

While link by link thy precious life is drawn 
Down in that dark, mysterious sea of death ! 
Yet, thou dost go so gently, painlessly, 
We'll praise our God though we be motherless. 



THE DESERTED PRISON-GROUND. 

'THHE meadow lies silent, forsaken; 

Soft grasses unfold on its breast; 
The cricket sports here unmolested ; 
The brown-bird sits here on her nest. 

Yet once it was threaded with pathways, 
And barracks were thick and forlorn ; 

And sickness and death brooded darkly ; 
The pathways were beaten and worn. 



The Deserted Prison-Ground, 75 

Each foot of the ground has its story ; 

Marked somewhere, if not in the grass 
That grows here so green and unconscious, 

And smiles upon us as we pass. 

But strange phantom forms are around us ; 

And he of the reeking red hand, 
With face of a fiend, without pity, 

Is waving a kindhng brand. 

Tis direful War ! he is viewing 
The scene of his triumph again. 

For here he held banquets right merry, 
'Mid sorrow and maddening pain. 



76 The Deserted Prison- Ground. 

The tears were all drained from their fountains, 
And we thirsted, ay! thirsted to weep! 

Yet on sped his car of destruction. 
The frenzied steeds wildly aleap. 

Oh, they fell ! — the brave souls, how they fell ! 

While dear ones were trembling at home; 
In rampart and field their poor bodies 

Made footholds for others to come. 

But here in captivity languished 

The loved and the honored of yore ; 

Their faces all whitened with sorrow; 
They were prisoners here, nothing more. 



The Deserted Prison-Ground, yj 

Hear we not on the far-reaching wavelets — 
Those whispering wavelets of air, — 

The low plaintive cries — the sad moanings 
That swelled o'er that sea of despair? 

Each lone mortal hour of sorrow, — 

Each spirit that hence took its flight, — 

Have left their sad traces in some place, 
And homes are bereft of their light. 

While now in yon meadow they're sleeping : 
And a slab at each grave tells the name; 

All in white, — just alike, — oh, so peaceful; 
All in file, just the way that they came. 



NEW YEAR. 

XT EW YEAR ! yet naught new save the year. 
Time's restless wheels are turning, turning, 
Love and grief are burning, burning, 

And falls with each the tear. 
For what has joy that sorrow shares not? 
And what has grief that joy bears not? 

Though hidden from our fear. 

New Year ! yet naught new save the year. 
In cot and hall the self-same story, 



New Year, 79 

Of greed for gain and love of glory, 

Of all things out of gear ; 
Of pittance doled out to dependent ; 
Of generous gift with love transcendent ; 

Of spendthrift's borrowed cheer. 

New Year ! yet naught new save the 
year. 
Sly Cupid still his dart is winging, 
His surest toils are ever bringing 

In bondage fool or seer. 
Or dapper clown, or country cousin. 
Or city belle, or blushing maiden, 
His arts still draw them near. 



8o New Year, 

New Year! yet naught new save the year. 
The same sad dirge for souls departed, 
The same sad tale of broken-hearted, 

The flow of silent tear, 
The curses of the wretch whose morrow 
Is fraught with pain and shame and sorrow,- 
Of woeful want and long arrear. 

New Year! yet naught new save the year. 
Time's restless wheels are turning, turning, 
Love and grief are burning, burning. 

And falls with each the tear. 
For what has joy that sorrow shares not? 
And what has grief that joy bears not? 

Though hidden from our fear. 



LINES 

ON THE DEATH OF L. R. 

/^H, tenderly turn down the sod 

Above the coffin lid; 

Most tenderly beneath the clod 

Let her loved form be hid. 

The angel found her sleeping, 

And folded her away; 
God has her in his keeping, 

To Him she loved to pray. 



82 Lines on the Death of L. R, 

She said, ** Tis given me to know 
The fateful hour draws near; 

While grasses o'er my kindred grow 
Why should I linger here? 

" Where, from the sea of time and change 

All helpless we are thrown, 
And lie like whitened wrecks in range 

Of sorrow's waves o'er-blown/' 

When next we met 'twas winter drear; 

Near by the churchyard gate ; 
Not her, — but clay upon the bier 

Told silently her fate. 



Lines on the Death of L. R. 83 

Farewell, dear friend, thy gain is vast; 

We wait just by the gate. 
Oh, when death comes to us at last. 

Be ours like thine the Golden gate ! 



OUR HOME BY THE RIVER. 

/^^H, there we were joyous, our circle un- 
broken ; 
Though father bent under the weight of his 
years ; 
But his head was so bright in its silvery white 
That, careless and happy, we recked not of 
tears. 



Our Home by the River, 85 

And his dear, trembling hand planted vineyard 
and fig-tree : 
He toiled for his loved ones through pitiless 
storm ; 
His spirit ne'er faltered, he grew not aweary, 
While his arm could sustain, while his fond 
heart could warm. 

He builded our home by the beautiful river; 

And often he fared o'er its turbulent tide; 
Whatever the result of his manly endeavor, 

There waited for him at the dear fireside, 

In quiet content, the sweet face of our mother, — 
A beacon of love guiding ever afold, — 
8* 



86 Our Home by the River, 

Little hearts, little hands, little lips for his 
welcome, 
Whose love for their father can never grow 
cold. 

There, under the roof-tree, a treasure, a blessing. 
Sat grandmother, gray, his broad hearth to 
adorn ; 

Her rocking-chair jogged in the corner anear him, 
Her finger oft lifted of dangers to warn. 

Now he's free from earth's fetters; the link that 
was brightest 
Is struck from our chain; and he sleeps 'neath 
the sod: 



Our Home by the River, 87 

Yes, — though tears dim our eyes, and our 
hearts throb in anguish, — 
He sleeps his last sleep in the acre of 
God. 



The home of our childhood is turned to base 
uses; 
The hearth-stone is shattered, — vines fall to 
decay ; 
And there where our voices and hearts mingled 
sweetest, 
The serpent that stingeth maintains his vile 
sway. 



88 Our Home by the River, 

Though chill lines may part us, away in the 
distance 
The cross of our Saviour still shines through 
the gloom ; 
Oh, there may we meet him where spirits im- 
mortal 
Shall, ransomed, redeemed, eternally bloom ! 



AURORA. 



(cAYUGA LAKE.) 



T^AIR as the morn ! — befitting is thy name ! 
Cayuga's heart holds thee in happy frame. 



His sprinkh'ng lights from myriad crests of foam, 
With ever-changing shadows o'er thee roam, 

Or falling soft in darkling, wavy line, 
Around thee with a witching beauty twine. 



go Aurora, 

He duplicates night's mystic dome for thee, 
Apollo's glory mirrors in his sea. 

His waves in rhythmic numbers paeans sing; 
And to thy shore a fairy host they bring. 

The starry-eyed from winter's frosty keep, 
The soft-voiced maiden from Pacific's sweep; 

The melting dew of sunny southern eye, 
While health and sport his lucent waves supply. 

Though sundered wide in after-years, they find, 
Or weal or woe, supernal in the mind 



Aurora. 91 

The Alma Mater of their tender years ; 

For Wells shall flow the fond, regretful tears. 

'Mid classic shades the spirits of the great 
Abide; in learned tomes, in honored state. 

They live forever on, and others find 

How lore that cost them dear doth bless mankind. 

So often pass we worth or learning by, 

Till death has veiled the mind and closed the eye. 

The summer robes thee deep in living green ; 
And beauteous marble forms glow white between 



92 Aurora, 

The lofty trees that cooling shades supply 
When Sol, refulgent, does his forces try. 

The gem-like fanes that in thy borders stand 
Bespeak the fear of God — the open hand ; 

And generations yet unborn in trust 

Shall keep the portals still from moth and rust. 

Long, long may'st thou remain Cayuga's pride, 
O fairest village; — Peace with thee abide! 





LINES. 








' 1 ^ENDER eye, looking out from 


the 


bright, 


JL. 


dewy grass, 








^'Good 


-morrow, good-morrow,'' 
pass. 


you 


say 


as we 


While 


a diamond-like tear hangs 


yet 


in your eye 


You smile a sweet welcome to 


the 


blue. 


beam- 




ing sky. 








Thoug 


ti that sky frowned upon 
your light form, 


you 


and 


tossed 


You smile still the same, and forgot 


is the storm. 




9 









TO A NAMELESS BIRD. 

T LIST thee, dear bird, 

That a new morn hath stirred; 
Thou art welcome as summer's soft rain. 

In the path of thy flight 

Shineth heavenly light. 
Though humble, most humble, thy strain. 

By my faith in thy truth, 
By thy beauty, in sooth. 



1 



To a Nmneless Bird. 95 

By the light to my life thou dost bring, 

This night, I conjure, 

Wrap my spirit secure 
In the soft, folding down of thy wing. 

And while care fades away 

With the day's parting ray, 
I yield to the spell of thy voice ; 

Oh, soul of my song. 

As the shadows grow long. 
Depart not, but ever rejoice. 



i 



HEART-BREATHINGS. 

TV /r Y boy ! — my bright, my beautiful, my loved, 
My long-lost boy ! — I feel thy twining arms 
To-night ; I taste thy balmy, balmy breath, — 
Thy soft, soft, balmy breath. Thy mother's 

heart 
Is sad, — is sad. The pale cold moon, full 

orb'd. 
Is looking in, and minds her of the time 
She sat with thee upon her breast beneath 



Heart-Breathings, 97 

The summer sky and thought thee sleeping, — 

So still thou wast, so motionless, — 

And looking down, she saw thy bright, full 

eyes 
Were fixed upon that shining sphere where long 
Her own had rested in wondering thought. 
With eager look thy soul seemed reaching out. 

What didst thou s^, dear angel? 
Were kindred spirits e'en then beckoning thee? 
Was thy bright life e'en then diffusing 
Its fair essence in the skies ? 

A life-beam 
Pure thou wast, — and now again united 
In pristine beauty to life's fountain-head ; 

9- 



9 8 Heart-Breathings, 

Away from care ; unspotted from the world ; 
And here sit I, thy mother still, yet lone ; 
Uncoiling day by day life's tangled thread, 
And have no darling's hand to hold in mine 
To cheer my weary way. 



TO J. J. H. 

ON OCCASION OF HER READINGS FROM SHAKSPEARE. 

T^HOUGH of thy form or face I trace no 
line, 
Or say if thou art fair, or fame presage, 
Yet, of thy heart I read a happy page. 

Though mute the Poet's voice, his dream divine. 

Touched by thy perfect art, doth sweetly shine ; 
And well, ay ! passing well, thy powers engage 
To stamp with vivid life his creatures' rage; 

The soul-full pictures of his mind define. 



loo To y. y. H, 

As, at the foot of towering precipice, 
Another deep we in the lake descry. 

E'en so the riches of thy passionate voice 
The Poet's great creations amplify. 

Reflected by those subtile depths of art, 

They deeper meaning, keener joy, impart. 



THE FORBIDDEN FLOWER. 

TN, at the sunny windows of a soul, 

I looked and saw a fair, delightsome flower, 
It held in perfect purity a dower; — 
A precious dower, — and I might have the 

whole. 
I said, *'0h, might I take the offered dole. 
No wealth of Ind could be compared to mine.'* 
'^ The guard sleeps well," the siren said : '* 'tis 
thine ; 



I02 The Forbidden Flower, 

For love's sweet sake, yield to thy heart's con- 
trol; 
And pluck the flower that blooms for thee 
alone." 

And while I stood with longing, outstretched 
arm. 
From out the guardian's mantle calmly shone 

A piercing light that spread a sure alarm : 

*' Avaunt, thou tempter," then I quickly said ; 

And soon the fateful, fond conceit had fled. 



"ROCK OF AGES, CLEFT FOR 
ME." 

A STRANGER in a foreign land- 
Where golden seas make bright the strand, 
Where plane and pahn adorn the shore, 
And beauty bids all hearts adore — 
Sat, pensive, in a sacred fane, 
Where Christians joined in solemn strain. 
Emotion shone on every face ; 
Adown the cheek rolled tears apace. 



I04 Rock of Ages ^ Cleft for Me, 

How well the old familiar signs 

Attest the power of those lines ! 

He knew as rose the earnest prayer 

Hope, love, and trust, all, all were there. 

He waited with uncovered brow; 

He would with them in worship bow. J 

Though strange the words, — the language new, 

So strong at last the influence grew, 

He grasped the import, grand and free ! 

'Twas " Rock of Ages, cleft for me !'' 



\ 



• HEARTS THAT BLEED. 

T^ROM many a hallowed upper room 
They cry, " O Lord, how long, how long? 
Thine arm, thine only arm is strong, 

Lift, Mighty God, the fearful gloom/' 

Their prayers ascend from all the land, 
The earnest outcome of great need ; 
Wrung, word by word from hearts that bleed, 

Yet God doth still their faith command. 

lO 



io6 Hearts that Bleed, 

There are who take the children's bread ; 

Who by lost souls may count their gain ; 

To whom the orphan cries in vain, 
Whom widowed hearts regard with dread. 

Temptation waits on natures pure, 

Unwary souls are led astray ; 

Men smooth the fell destroyer's way 
Till he hath made his fetters sure. 

A taint that stingeth worse than death 
Is drawn with mother's milk, by lips 
Unconscious as the bee that sips 

The honey on the flowery heath. 



Hearts that Bleed, 107 

Ay ! chains that reckless parents forge 
Are stronger than the sternest steel ; 
They drag the life -boat, — sink the keel, 

Where sands and bitter seas engorge. 

And while they say, ''God's will be done," 
To Him their tearful eyes they raise; 
With prayers of faith and songs of praise 

His mighty arm they wait upon. 



WE LOVE THE HOARY LOCKS 
OF AGE. 

Tyl7E love the hoary locks of age ; 

A glorious crown, — a graphic page 

Of lines in silver wrought; 
They tell us tales of many years, — 
Of heart's best love dissolved in tears, 

Or head well tried with thought. 

We love our childhood's roof-tree shade, 
The dear old home our father made : 



We Love the Hoary Locks of Age. 109 

We love the mossy well; 
The gray hearth-stone, where shrill and clear 

The cricket's chirp sounds on the ear, 
Of mirth or dearth to tell. 

We love to sit on Autumn's night 
Beside the log-fire's cheerful light 

And watch the grandma knit; 
We love her tales of olden time, — 
To hear her quaint, old, simple rhyme, — 

To see the fire-light flit. 

We love to think, — on death's dark shore, 
Whose tideless wave shall waft us o'er 



no We Love the Hoary Locks of Age, 

Where care cannot molest, — 
That darling child and dear old friends 
To greet us, our kind Father sends, 

To welcome to our rest. 



*'0H, TURN THOSE DARKSOME 
EYES AWAYr 

/^^H, turn those darksome eyes away; 
They warm to life a germ of woe; 
It ne'er shall meet the light of day; 
Twere better, far, 'twere better so. 

They strongly plead ; they pierce ; they probe ! 

And though their cause be warmly held, 
Oh, let this heart wear still its robe 

Of silence, till by death compelled ! 



WINTER'S FIRST STORM. 

A T 7INTER'S first storm is unfolding its forces, 
It shrieks in the chimney, it howls o'er 
the roof; 
The drift in the corner is piling up boldly, 
Earth's shroud is woven in wondrous woof. 

In vain we may talk of the warm, cozy fireside, 
The dark frowns of nature will pierce to the 
heart ; 



Winter's First Storm, 1 1 3 

We may wrap e'er so closely the mantle of 
comfort, 
Winter's chill breath will drear fears impart. 

We list to the roar of the furious storm-king, 

And fear for the poor as his step draweth near ; 
Hear bells in the air ringing knells for the 
dying,— 
The breath of the wind making moan o'er 
the bier. 

We fear that the traveler, toiling, disheartened. 
Worn down by fatigue or benumbed by the 
frost 



114 




WmU/s 


First Storm. 




That 


chills 


his warm life-blood, shall yield him 




to 


slumber, 


• 




And none know the 


hour when 


to earth he 




is 


lost. 






Yet, 


if we i 
ful. 


are mindful 


of those w 


lo are need- 


And help 


whom we 


can in pity'^ 


> sweet way. 


The 


storm 
ligl 


may rage 
iten. 


on ; — while 


burdens we 


And 


hearts 


are but warm, — what 


shall matter 




the 


day? 







LITTLE KATE^S LAST DREAM. 



/^^H sister! — when the cowslips come, 
And when the dandelions come, 



I'll pick them over night, and so 

For market they'll be fresh, you know. 



Ii6 Little Kate's Last Dream, 

That lady living in the town 

Who gave mamma her Sunday gown, 

Will always think my cowslips nice, 
And never grumble at the price; 

She looks so good! she'll smile and buy. 
And then with cakes my pockets ply. 

And lots of money I can earn. 

As through the town I turn and turn. 

Then, sister, you shall have some shoes. 
And almost anything you choose; 



Little Kate's Last Dream, 117 

For you are lame, you know, you know. 
And winter makes you tremble so, 

And mother sick, and father dead, 
No fire to warm, nor any bread. 

Oh ! we are very cold to-night, 

But God, they say, makes all things right ; 

And spring is coming, never fear. 
And I will lie close by you here 

Till morning comes ; and keep you warm ; 
And God will keep us both from harm. 
II 



1 1 8 Little Kate's Last Dream, 

But oh ! the cold wind ! how it shakes 
The clapboards ; how the pine tree creaks ! 

It bites like teeth, — but sister sleeps ; 

I'm glad she sleeps — she sleeps — she sleeps. 

I hear a limb drop from the pine, 
Fm growing warm ; oh, fine, so fine 

The fire we'll make fi^om that old bough 
The wind shook down for us just now ! 

And in the spring, when cowslips grow, 
ril gather — gather — them — you know. 



Little Kate's Last Dream. 119 

She slept, — and morning found them dead ; 
Across the floor, — across the bed 

There lay a lovely wreath of snow. 
For them no more the cowslips grow. 



A MYSTERY.* 

'THHE ship Atlantic follows free 
Her path adown Superior's sea, 
While on the forward deck sit we, — 
My merry, dark-eyed friend and me. 

The waves overlap the sun's low bed. 
And in the east a fairer head 
O'er all a lovely light doth shed. 
Like tissue veil of silver thread. 

^ An incident of the E College Excursion of 1875. 



A Mystery, 121 

The inky waters boom and groan, 
And strike beneath the stern, and moan. 
And tell, in many a startling tone, 
Of souls that they have made their own. 

We speak of how on yester-night 
We passed a wreck ; and saw the white 
Waves rear upon the rocks in might, 
Like giants in a furious fight. 

We catch a sound of rushing wing, 

And see among the ratlines cling 

A form, — a dark, mysterious thing. 

'* Strange ! what should here an owlet bring?" 



122 A Mystery. 

We say, — for only girls are we, — 
" It might, perchance, an omen be 
That we shall perish in the sea.** 
Then closer draws my friend to me. 

They catch with ease the weary wight, 
So weakened from his lengthened flight. 
His full brown eyes betray no fright, 
Nor yet to near approach invite. 

Of species rare ! — a precious prize ! — 
They fix his doom : at morn he dies ; 
And soon a prison they devise, — 
The owlet slowly winks his eyes. 



A Mystery. 123 

They sought him in the morning gray, 
With fell intent ; — but far away 
In safety sleeps the owl to-day. 
How ? I say not, — another may. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




'"^K 



